


Twenty Is Different When You're Thirty

by HGRising



Category: Football RPF, Real Person Fiction, Sports RPF
Genre: Fluff, German National Team, M/M, Mentions of other characters - Freeform, Schweinski, lots of gratuitous tickling, marry each other already, mein hase, mention of mesut/sami, penguin poldi, ten years, that almost kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 15:30:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2197026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HGRising/pseuds/HGRising
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years of schweinski, good and bad, but mostly the good. Contains a bet that Schweini considers a promise (one he was determined to fulfill) and a meeting in Ibiza. </p><p>Happy birthday, Schweini, ready for your gift?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twenty Is Different When You're Thirty

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This story was inspired by this post, [http://normalplaces.tumblr.com/post/94620031034/arlahm-youllneverwalcologne-murphyisky]. I hope they don’t mind that I linked to them. I just seriously love it and them so much. I was speechless when I first saw it, thinking holy fucking shit. Basti, you bastard, stop playing with my feelings like that and just get it together. kiss him, you fool. And then, Lukas is all like, adorably confused, like he can’t believe Basti’s doing it, but he’s still all up for it.  
> So much more I can say (that I put at the end of the story instead), but my brain hurts from all the schweinski. End note, I really hope you enjoy it.

**Twenty Is Different When You’re Thirty**

.

_Happy birthday to you,_

_Happy birthday to you,_

At midnight, the crowd around him broke out into a slurred rendition of ‘Happy Birthday,’ and the presence of pesky cameras forced him to work his face muscles into a smile that hurt.

What was there to be happy about? This morning, he woke up alone and feeling the same persistent pangs of old pains that wouldn’t go away. He didn’t remember it taking quite so long to bounce back.

_Here, Basti! Over here, drink with us!_

Everyone in the popular night club demanded he drink with them, and he obliged as best he could, swapping out the alcohol for cola, but no one was the wiser as they wished him a happy birthday and congratulations for winning the World Cup. He perfunctorily thanked them, the smile never breaking but not completely reaching his eyes either.

Another drink was forced into his hand, but he put it down as soon as they looked away, returning to his own drink. He was still feeling lightheaded from ones he did accept earlier in the night, though, just not as nearly drunk as he could be, as he used to get when he was feeling celebratory. And he definitely had every reason to fucking celebrate.

_Where’s Sarah?—_

Hell if he knew, he thought. Probably wishing for his head on a platter or some other equally treasured body part.

Situated on the beach, the club had an expansive view of the sun dimly lighting up the sky over the unbroken waters. The colors ran like a gradient, black, red, running into yellow. In a mere hour, the sun would rise ever higher, and it would be as if it never happened. The only evidence of its existence would be in his memories, much like other pieces of his life.

Of course, it wasn’t always like that.

Those memories were once shared with the people whom they encapsulated until they moved on. He remembered though. He was left with bits that others forgot existed, like secrets, and he was the reluctant secret keeper.

His grip tightened around the glass of cola masquerading itself as rum. He wished he could bring himself to pour it out for the real thing, but Poldi didn’t like it when he drank himself into oblivion, which was what he sorely wanted to do.

He wanted to stay sober this time, though. He wanted to see what a difference thirty made, if it made any at all.

_Make a wish!_

Bastian covertly checked his phone. There were messages upon messages from people he knew who wished him the same as the people in the club. Quickly, but still careful, he scanned the missed calls and messages for one name that always stood out among the rest. Slipping his phone back into his pocket in disappointment, he carried on as if nothing had happened

_Drink up, Chosen One. It’s your birthday. Did you make a wish yet?_

.

At twenty, Bastian was lucky enough to get called up to the national team. Even luckier, he had been called up alongside someone whom he discovered would be his best friend, lacking a more appropriate word—one he wouldn’t even consider until years later—, for everything that came after, Lukas Podolski.

In Lukas, he found someone like his other half. Where he wanted to go out and experience the world, Lukas showed him how to appreciate home and kept a place for him to come back to. Where Bastian drank until he couldn’t walk, Lukas held him steady. Bastian wasn’t comfortable in his skin, but Lukas made him not care.

If Bastian was one thing, then Lukas was the other, filling in the parts of Bastian that he didn’t know was missing or needed. The list could go on and on, perhaps surprising even the pair themselves, not really consciously acknowledging how well they went together but living it all the same.

Regardless, they went hand in hand because they found they had a lot in common as well. The first night of practice, after meeting each other in the hotel room they shared, they stayed up late playing with the PlayStation Lukas brought and enthusiastically shared. Both paid for it the next morning when they were worked past limits they previously barely scratched at.

They were dorky. Carefree. Mischievous. Playful. Tricksters. Thickest of thieves. According to the people around them, anyway. But according to those same people, they were annoying, loud, and rambunctious. They were affectionately called kids, despite being six feet tall each.

But, most importantly, they always had each others’ backs, on and off the pitch.

.

Then, 2006 happened, and the world was a blinding white until they lost, and the world didn’t seem so bright anymore. Still, Lukas brought in light for him. Lukas was the light.

After the match with Italy, Lukas found him beating himself up in his room. They weren’t sharing rooms anymore, so Bastian figured he had charmed a hotel worker into letting him in because he was sure he had locked the door, hoping to create a private cave to wallow in his self pity.

He felt rather than realized that Lukas had draped himself over him like they often did, making sure to face him. With him there, the outpouring of guilt found its way from Bastian’s lips to Lukas. But, Lukas wasn’t known for his patience and soon grew tired of Bastian putting himself down for things out of his control or just simply ridiculous to consider.

Bastian hadn’t even been playing during that game, and Lukas said as much. That didn’t bring much comfort to Bastian, who felt that he should’ve been there, alongside him, scoring for their country, winning for their country.

It was then that Lukas smacked Bastian’s head, which had burrowed itself into a downy pillow. Reflexively, Bastian turned to look at him, confused until Lukas angrily listed all the reasons why their lost could be blamed on Lukas and not Bastian since he was the one who had actually been playing.

Of course, Bastian jumped to his defense, speaking quickly to refute all the claims he put forth against himself. It took him a minute to see that Lukas was smiling at him because, as soon as the anger came, it was gone, replaced by a Lukas he recognized. So shocked by his trickery, Bastian broke out into laughter, and so did Lukas. They laughed until his chest hurt for new reasons.

Still on their sides and still facing each other, Bastian felt the urge to kiss Lukas, instead settling for a hug and a peck on his forehead. It wasn’t the first time he felt that way, but on his bed, the desire to go through with it was stronger than before.

Lukas laughed, trying to push him away with only a fraction of the strength Bastian knew he had. “Stop, Schweini. What will the fans think?”

“Shut up. You love my lips,” Bastian said playfully, ruffling his hair and hoping Lukas didn’t think he was weird. He often—every chance he got—showed Lukas this level of affection, but it was usually on the field and usually after one or the other had done something particularly worth celebrating.

He shot back, holding his hands flat against his chest as if to shield himself from Bastian, “Don’t put words in my mouth. You’re just trying to take advantage of me.”

“You came into _my_ room and laid down on _my_ bed.”

“And?”

“ _And_ , _I’m_ the one with the girlfriend.”

“Stupid Basti. I’ll tell Dani on you, and then no one will want you and you’ll be like me.”

“I can kiss whoever I want. I’m a footballer,” he declared, as if it made sense, puckering his lips and reaching out to Lukas in jest.

Lukas scooted back, careful not to fall off the edge of the bed, and scrunched his face up in a grin. “You dare?”

“Come back here,” he laughed, his hand darting out to grab him. “You’ll fall off.”

Sticking out his tongue, Lukas laid flat on his back, dodging his hand, and stretched out, hitting Bastian in the face. “This bed is too big. What do we need such a big bed for?”

Bastian had similar thoughts when he realized he and Lukas wouldn’t be able to share a room like they usually did. Moving Lukas’ hand off of his face but keeping it in his own, Bastian answered, “Sleepovers, obviously.”

“You have a lot of sleepovers with Micha?” He teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Who else? Micha doesn’t kick me in his sleep.”

“Micha probably doesn’t drool either.”

“I don’t drool!”

“Yes, you do! You drooled on me. That’s why I kick you.”

“Idiot,” Bastian said, shoving Lukas further over to his side while he made himself comfortable.

There was silence, but he was sure Lukas hadn’t fallen asleep. He couldn’t be asleep this early, even with the exhausting day he had. No, Bastian knew he was too still to be sleeping, and he liked to hold something as he slept, too, be it blankets or, on a few separate occasions, Bastian.

Something niggled at his mind, and he had to say it, to get the crazy out so he could find his own peace. Moving his leg, he nudged Lukas, getting his attention, smiling when Lukas nudged back.

“It would’ve been different if I got to play,” he stated, and that was fact. But, that was true for many things.

Lukas teased him, “You think you’re that good?”

“I know I am.”

He responded with a snort, kicking his leg a little.

“What? You don’t think so?”

He giggled immaturely, and Bastian could feel him rolling his eyes. “All hail Schweini! Greatest football player ever.”

His less than heartfelt declaration was met with a pillow to his face. He had been caught off guard, and taking his chance, Bastian started tickling the sides of Lukas’ stomach, causing him to convulse in laughter below him.

Gathering the little energy he had left, Lukas pushed the pillow off his face, breathless, only to find Bastian’s face extremely close to his.

“Say, ‘Schweini’s the best, and I wish I was as great as him’ or I’ll make you,” he said.

“Make me?” He asked in between gasping breaths. Bastian didn’t let up on his attack, hands still running across Lukas’ stomach. Under his fingertips, he could feel his muscles tighten with each stroke.

“I’ll never stop tickling you.”

“No!”

Eyes on him, Bastian had an idea. Dropping his forehead down onto Lukas’, he said. “I won’t kiss you anymore then.”

“I don’t get it. Are you trying to get me to listen to you or not?”

“Don’t deny it. You love my kisses!” He said, poking Lukas.

“No, they’re gross and wet, and you’re always sweaty.”

“That’s cause I’d been playing,” he said, defending himself.

“And, you stink. Did you shower yet?”

“ _You_ stink. I wasn’t playing today.”

“Eh. You still want to kiss me anyway.”

“Who’d want to kiss you? No one.”

“No one except you!”

“I do it because I pity you. Poor Poldi with no one to love him.”

“Liar. You love me!”

“No, you love me. Admit it,” he said threateningly, poking him again to remind him of what he could always continue doing.

“No,” Lukas groaned. He tried to push him away and get out from under him, but he was trapped.

“Admit it,” he repeated.

“Get off me, Schweini.”

“Then admit it.”

“Nggh,” he whined.

“Admit it.”

Lukas grabbed the hand that hovered above his sides. “Ahh. No.”

“I’m the greatest!”

“No, you’re not.”

“I bet you, if I get to play, we can definitely win next time,” he said, now thinking about the next one before this one was even over.

With his ever present grin, Lukas flicked his neck and told him, “If we win because of you, I’ll kiss you on the lips in front of the entire world.”

“And say I’m the best.”

“And say you’re the best in the whole wide world,” he agreed.

“I knew you wanted to kiss me.”

They woke up to furious pounding at the door, having succumbed to the pull of sleep’s persistent fingers, or maybe that was just Bastian.

Their teammates were trying to find Lukas after he had left them in search of Bastian. Micha and Lahm weren’t too surprised to find them together—though the koala-hugging was new… to them—, nor was Bastian surprised to find Lukas’ arm and leg thrown over him. If he wanted to avoid it, he would’ve kicked Lukas out of his room after they finished playing games on the PlayStation, but he didn’t.

It was only after that 2006 World Cup, when everyone lost their shit after that damned documentary of their ‘summer fairytale’ that Bastian considered his friendship with Lukas was anything out of the ordinary. It was hard not to know what the public thought of them when it was thrown in their faces everywhere.

They were dubbed, ‘Schweinski,’ and Bastian didn’t mind, but he had a feeling Lukas did. He kept flinching whenever he heard someone even utter the word when they were out in public together. Dani didn’t like it much either, amused at first, then angry, and finally jealous, accusing Bastian of spending all his time with Lukas and cheating on her with him. He thought she was crazy, giving into the tabloids’ claims and getting upset over him spending time with his best friend, but retrospectively, he was surprised it took her so long to get fed up with the missed dates and dinners for three.

Then, as if in a dream, Lukas came to play for Bayern with him, and it was like the fairytale continued to play privately for him.

Unfortunately, Lukas’ switch to Bayern was gradually met with less fanfare and more criticism, emphasized by a good chunk of his time spent on the bench. He confided in Bastian that he’d been feeling restless and frustrated. He’d been warming the bench for far too long, much longer than a player of his caliber should have had to put up with. After that, things happened much too suddenly for Bastian.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Lukas publicly declared their ‘marriage’ nonexistent, their friendship fabricated by the media. He said ‘Schweinski’ never existed and told everyone to consider the ‘marriage’ over.

Lukas never explained why he said those things either or why he refuted their closeness, and Bastian never brought it up, but he did have a feeling it had more to do with the new girl who entered the picture than his personal aggravation with their fans’ oddly enthusiastic support for the two.

As it was, each time Lukas turned him away or gave him an excuse to not hang out with each other, smiling that smile he always wore, it was as if he was purposefully distancing himself from Bastian but didn’t have the courtesy to tell him explicitly.

Then, Lukas was transferred back to Cologne, and Bastian met him on the pitch as adversaries rather than allies for the first time in years. Also for the first time in a long time, Lukas had pulled him into a warm hug before the game, after the game, and continued to do so during their subsequent matchups. It made Bastian wonder if those less than satisfactory few years in between when Lukas wore his club’s colors were a disappointing dream more than anything else.

Bastian never found the courage to ask Lukas what was going on, so he swallowed his insecurities and forgave him for—though, not quite forgetting—the hurtful words that he didn’t even tell him were hurtful because he could never not be with Lukas. And, he, too, wanted to return back to the way they were after all. It was better this way for the both of them.

It was fragile, but it was enough, perhaps less than he deserved but more than he could have hoped, and the cuts from Lukas’ public dismissal had turned into scars. How could people even believe him in the first place anyway? Were they blind?

But, by then, so much time had passed, and few cared about what happened to the friendship of a couple of football players. They were twenty five, half a decade from when they started and years past the release of that accursed documentary.

Lukas had a baby boy for Christ’s sake, and Bastian was doing his best in a committed relationship with his new girlfriend, Sarah.

Come 2010, they had another chance at being world champions and had settled back into their usual routine of thoughtless affections. Still, their dynamic was not quite what he remembered. But, further still, he felt more ecstatic than he had since Lukas left his club, forcing him to go from seeing Lukas every day to seeing Lukas only every few months on opposite sides of the field.

That, in and of itself, was a huge indicator for Bastian that perhaps the public who saw them on the big screen four years was onto something. Not to mention the fact that Bastian kept Lukas’ bet to him in the back of his mind, waiting for the one moment to collect.

Every time he saw Lukas with Monika, though, he felt as if he were clinging onto something he didn’t have a right to. He admitted to himself, as he laid next to Sarah, that he probably didn’t.

That year, they failed to win, despite playing his hardest with his Lukas. Third place, yet again. The bet, which he was beginning to treat more as a promise, would not be fulfilled that year.

He wondered if Lukas could tell why he was so miserable after the game or if he chalked it up to the most obvious reason. Then, he wondered, if Lukas could tell if Bastian was working so hard, becoming ‘the Chosen One’ as dubbed by the media, towards words spoken over four years ago by a person who probably didn’t even remember. Bastian didn’t know, but Lukas smiled at him like he could, though, and approved.

Wisely, he kept his thoughts to himself. He was beginning to come to terms with the idea that his feelings for his friends weren’t completely platonic, and he couldn’t risk the backlash that would come from being a public figure. Not if Lukas didn’t feel the same way. Because if he had two great loves, it’d be Lukas and football. Or maybe, Lukas then football. No, he wasn’t stupid; he could ruin his career, both of theirs.

And maybe that was why this loss crushed him worse than the last. It wasn’t just football for him anymore, which was why his most treasured souvenirs from the games were the memories he had of him and Lukas.

He took as much as Lukas was willing to give him during the short few weeks of the tournament, never quite figuring out how much Lukas was willing to let go because he never met with any resistance. The touches, the hand holding, the looks. Those fucking looks that made Bastian think that maybe, just maybe, Lukas felt the same. He thought he would’ve had a heart attack after a shirtless Lukas kissed his neck and pulled him close, coming off the pitch.

Any more fuel, and he’d have to act on it. Then, he remembered, he did.

Lukas missed the penalty kick, something that no German player had done in even Bastian didn’t know how long. Lukas looked to Bastian first—Bastian knew because he had been watching before, during, and after, not able to tear his eyes away—, and he must not have liked what he saw because his eyes, those same fucking eyes that had looked at him in such an indescribable way, shut him out. He looked down immediately, walking away from him, and Bastian felt like he would’ve kept walking away if Bastian didn’t stop him.

Purposefully striding over to Lukas, Bastian held his head firmly against his, foreheads touching in a not uncommon action between the two. Lukas’ eyes were remained downcast, and his eyelashes were wet with tears, mixing in with his sweat. Then, Bastian made sure Lukas knew that he didn’t blame him, didn’t think differently of him, didn’t feel differently about him. Of course, Bastian hoped he didn’t know too much about his feelings. He repeated over and over until Lukas looked like he might just believe him and said it again, “I’m still proud of you, Poldi. So fucking proud.”

They came off the pitch together, and a rush of old memories flooded his mind. They were twenty in that moment, one supporting the other because the others didn’t—couldn’t—understand.

From there, things changed for Bastian, and he was pulled back into the fairytale. But, they called Lukas, the prince. Did that make him Lukas’ Chosen Princess? He would’ve just settled for being Lukas’. He could live with that.

Bastian and Lukas texted more often than ever once the World Cup was over for them and they returned to their respective teams, videochatting when they could. They spent so much time focused on each other that Bastian began to categorize his time as time spent with Lukas and time without.

Then, fucking Per had to butt in on whatever they had going on.

He knew Lukas was staying with him because he was closest—geographically closest, anyway, if Bastian had something to say about it—to Lukas, but it still rubbed him the wrong way. He’d be more than willing to offer his home and drive Lukas wherever he needed to be if he knew it wouldn’t have been laughed off as a joke. Instead, he just barely concealed his jealousy. Later, Lukas teased him and accused him of being pouty. He didn’t care much; knowing that Lukas kept pictures of him on his phone helped with that marginally, and he wasn’t doing a good job of keeping the goofy grin he knew he was wearing off his face.

Skip to their reunion at the 2014 World Cup, and they won. Fucking _finally_ won. They were 2014 World Cup champions with Bastian in the frontlines. It might have been a sweeter victory if an injury hadn’t left Lukas on the bench, but he wasn’t going to be picky, not about this. He had this bet—this promise—in mind when he ran to Lukas after Mario had scored, cinching the victory for Germany.

As if he were waiting for him, Lukas jumped into his arms, and he tried to angle his face towards him in the jumble of limbs, but Lukas had his arms tightly wrapped around him, screaming in his ears and to the camera that they were champions. And all Bastian could do was smile like they just won and wait his turn to get Lukas’ attention because they _just fucking won_.

The entire team, their families, and the officials poured onto the field in celebration. Bastian lost Lukas in the push and pull of the crowd, only to find him minutes later holding onto Louis, who was adorably wearing a smile that matched his father’s. Monika was probably somewhere nearby, but Bastian didn’t care to know. Her existence only mattered to him when it interfered with his time with Lukas.

Walking over to them with the promise in mind, Lukas handed Louis off to a confused Bastian while Lukas cheered out his heart with the rest of them, not able to contain his excitement. Bastian felt Louis slip his hand into his. Bastian looked at Louis then, and Louis stared back.

When Lukas came back from jumping around and obnoxiously jumping around _on other people_ to grab Louis’ other hand once more, Bastian felt like he lost to the boy and almost pouted, almost dared to drop Louis’ hand to reach for Lukas’ free one.

Louis’ eyes were still on him, and he turned away instead to face the crowd, not able to stare straight into the eyes that reminded him so much of Lukas without flinching.

Somehow, Louis had disappeared from between them, preferring to spin around on the field in circles, and they really were holding hands until Lukas was dragged away by Mesut for an Arsenal team photo with Per.

A camera man caught him alone a little later but not really. He didn’t feel alone when he had Lukas in his sights. Mesut had just left his side, the fool, chasing Thomas for some reason or another. It was his chance. No one else around to take Lukas away from him.

And, it was if Bastian’s will had imposed itself on Lukas because he jogged up to him. Impulsively, Bastian reached for his hand. He quickly brought Lukas to his side, firmly grasping one hand to him and putting an arm around him as well, like friends do. Then, he did something friends decidedly did not do.

He tried to kiss him.

On his first attempt, Bastian felt ridiculously stupid with his lips puckered so while Lukas stared at the camera, smiling and not focusing on him. He tried again, calling for his attention, paying no mind to the camera or perhaps spurned on because of it.

On his second attempt, Lukas finally noticed what Bastian was doing, and he saw surprise flash across the Pole’s features and hesitance. It didn’t deter him from getting what he wanted.

On his third attempt, Bastian threw away his shame and went all in. He closed his eyes and readied his lips again, waiting for Prince Poldi to notice him and do the same.

He couldn’t believe it when Lukas mimicked his actions and almost seemed to enjoy it, but something was wrong, and Bastian felt it in his gut. As an athlete, Bastian made a living off of his instincts, and one, two, three opened his eyes and pulled back, trying to play it off as a joke as they parted ways.

He was all but willing to give up on the entire thing until Lukas searched _him_ out again, called him over for yet another selfie. The look Lukas gave him when he called for him sent a sliver of something new through him, warmed him, reminded him of exactly why he was so obsessed and addicted to Lukas.

Drunk off him. That was the only way he could explain why he had tried to kiss Lukas yet again, missing him only when Lukas had turned his head at the last moment to look at his phone’s camera. At least, that time, there was no hesitance he felt from Lukas, only excitement and happiness as he stood there, making sure the picture was decent.

He took advantage of that pause and embraced him for longer than necessary, jumping on him, using up the last few moments they had together before the team was called up to the assembled stage to accept their medals and the trophy.

On the stage, he shared a look with Poldi as they took turns lifting the trophy, but he might have been imagining it because he blinked once, and he was cheering again, no longer looking at him.

After all the obligatory photos were taken, he watched as Monika made her way to Lukas. Lukas took off his medal to give to Louis to wear, and Bastian looked away, not wanting to intrude on the private moment between father and son.

It was then that he wondered where Sarah was and guilt overtook him. He felt like they’d been celebrating for hours and not once did he try to find her, too caught up in trying to collect on Lukas’ promise.

When he finally saw her, standing with the other wives and girlfriends, he went over to her automatically and kissed her completely.

Immediately, it confirmed what he’d subconsciously felt. Something was different now between them. The kiss felt lacking. Or, maybe it was the same, and he only just noticed something was missing after someone showed him what it could be like.

A week later, they broke up.

Lukas called him to console him, presumably after the tabloids caught him moving his stuff out of their apartment, and though it might have seemed like a good time to segue into a talk about what he felt for Lukas, he didn’t.

.

Back in the present, back in his bed, alone, Bastian felt cheated, thinking for the thousandth time about what happened after they won. He was a fucking champion, but what he really wanted was so far from his fingertips, it was painful.

Bastian was jealous his friend couldn’t spend his birthday with him like he had times before—it was Lukas who sang happy birthday to him then—, but Bastian understood, tried to understand anyway. So what if Monika had to spend a few days alone with Louis? She had him for a majority of the time anyway. Of course, Bastian _did_ understand the need to completely fill one’s time with Lukas.

He thought to himself, he had it bad. What he wanted wasn’t just the kiss. What he really wanted all along was a chance. The kiss was meant to give him that chance.

However, short of flying out to London and pushing him down onto a bed and _taking_ what was his, Bastian became bolder in between the days following the end of the World Cup and his birthday. He flirted more and more openly with Lukas, more overt in his affections through texts and whatever means he could while they were miles apart. Interestingly, Lukas didn’t deter him, almost seemed to encourage him—though that may have been wishful thinking. He took the lack of rejection as a good sign anyway.

At least, Lukas wasn’t publicly refuting their friendship this time. Hell, he was the one posting pictures of the two of them together.

He should’ve just gone to London when Lukas suggested after his breakup with Sarah, but he was so sure that Lukas was just being polite, preferring to spend time with his family before season started up again.

He turned to lay flat on his back, regretting his decision anyway. He was feeling disconnected all of a sudden, like he wasn’t on the boat anymore and drifting off alone in open waters.

Then, a life preserver flew in an arc above him. His phone lit up and buzzed, and he practically jumped for it, wanting to see who it was from, disappointed when he realized it was just an alert from Twitter. Reading it, he felt emotional whiplash.

_Hallo mein Hase—_

He got only so far before he squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, hoping to be proven wrong. That he wasn’t just seeing things. When he confirmed that it was indeed from his Poldi, Bastian finished reading the message that embodied the phrase, short but sweet, and fell back onto his bed. He clutched his phone to his chest, smiling embarrassingly dreamily to himself—thank God he was alone—, and refused to leave his bed, wanting to lock the moment into his memories exactly as it was.

It was almost sundown when he finally decided to leave his room; his stomach refused to continue being ignored.

His friends, who were docked on different boats nearby and saw him, chalked up his absence to the festivities the night before, and he didn’t correct them. He did decline their offers to continue their celebrations though, citing that he was still feeling terrible from the night before. Quickly returning to his bed, and his phone, Bastian filled his tummy and typed out a text to a number he knew from memory, by heart.

_Mein hase?_

He quickly received a reply and wondered what time it was in London; he was terrible at it, waking Lukas up at all times in the night when they were in different countries. Lukas once said that Monika had told him that if she didn’t know better, it was as if Bastian was his mistress, calling her husband away from their bed at all hours of the night. Bastian laughed awkwardly when he told him, not knowing what to say.

_-Yes, mein hase. Do you like it?_

He grinned, writing back, wondering this time if Lukas knew how flirty he was being and hoping he didn’t stop.

_What are you up to?_

_-Guess._

_I don’t even know what time it is over there, Luki._

_-I’ll give you a hint. It’s nighttime._

_Did I wake you?_

_-No. Been on a plane. You know I can’t sleep on planes without my Schweini._

Bastian’s face split into a wider grin, and his thumb ran over the words. He was in the middle of asking Lukas where he was heading to when a knock on the cabin door disturbed him. There was only the captain of the boat, a few stewards, and himself on the boat, and he had asked not to be disturbed, barring an emergency. He wasn’t sure what he preferred then, to be disturbed or on a sinking boat.

He stood in front of his door, considering it.

 _-Open up_.

His mind and heart raced. No fucking way, he thought, throwing the door open.

“Hey, Schweini,” Lukas grinned, a bag slung over his shoulder. Walking past Bastian, Lukas surveyed the area. Then, turning around, he pulled Bastian into a tight hug.

Still speechless, Bastian could only smile. He couldn’t help it. It was stuck on his face, and he feared it wouldn’t leave until Lukas did. Or, until he woke up and realized this was all a dream.

Clapping him on the back, Lukas told him, “Happy birthday, mein Hase. How’s it feel to be thirty, old man?”

Finally, Bastian brought himself back into consciousness, still amazed Lukas was with him.

“Why—“ he managed.

“It’s your birthday,” he explained, letting Bastian go. He looked around the room again, eyes scanning across every inch more thoroughly than before.

Bastian would’ve been embarrassed about the mess it was in if they hadn’t shared rooms before. As it was, he was still in shock.

Lukas flopped down onto his bed, pulling his bag off the floor and to his side. He settled into the pillows and arranged it just so before looking back to Bastian. With his hands behind his head and laying across Bastian’s bed, he asked, “Ready for your gift?”

Bastian’s eyes widened, and he almost choked on his tongue before Lukas reached into his bag, pulling out a gift box wrapped in penguin themed wrapping paper. Bastian had to take a mental step back, ashamed that he had entertained the idea of Lukas potentially offering himself up to Bastian as a gift. It was just as well, he wouldn’t even know what to do if Lukas did.

“Schweini?”

Pretending that he didn’t just envision his friend as his gift, Bastian took the proffered box from Lukas, who resumed his position on the bed.

“Open it,” he encouraged, enjoying Bastian’s reaction to his presence.

Carefully, he unwrapped it, running a finger under the seam to prevent himself from tearing it apart to see what his Poldi had gotten him.

It was a bunny. Not a real one. A stuffed animal. Cute, if Bastian had to describe it. But, he was confused, and it must’ve shown.

“Do you like it?” He asked, before rummaging through the nightstand and a nearby set of drawers. Coming back to the bed, he lifted up the blankets and sheets. He checked the pillows for good measure. “Where’s Poldi?”

Holding the bunny with both hands carefully, more because of who gave it to him than because it was his taste, he asked, “Did you hit your head, Poldi?”

“No, not me,” Lukas said, shaking his head. “ _Poldi_.” When Bastian still wasn’t understanding, Lukas explained, “The penguin? I got you a ‘Schweini’ to go with your ‘Poldi’. Where is he? I thought you brought him with you everywhere.”

A furious red stained Bastian’s cheeks. There was no doubt that Lukas had discovered one of his heavily guarded secrets. Since he was given the damned, lovable penguin, he had brought it along with him on away games for luck. He usually kept it hidden, but Lukas must have seen it during one of the many times he was in his room.

Embarrassed, he mumbled, “At home.”

“You left Poldi alone at home?”

He felt a ridiculous amount of guilt over leaving an animate object in his house at Lukas’ words.

“Schweini can’t be without his Poldi,” Lukas admonished, and Bastian wasn’t sure to whom he was referring. Then he grinned, “Ah well. Just make sure to bring him next time. Both of them. I got you something else, too.”

Pulling out another box, a smaller one, he offered it to Bastian. There were no penguins on this box, but honestly, Bastian was still floored about the significance of his previous gift to pay much attention to this one.

“Are you going to open it? Or will the rabbit have to do it for you?”

“Shut up,” he whined. “It’s my gift, isn’t it? I can do what I want with it.”

“You should open it now!” He insisted.

Bastian would’ve kept him waiting, but Lukas seemed so damn excited about him opening it that he complied with little further resistance.

The wrapping fell away, revealing a watch. A gold watch with a large face.

“Look at the back,” Lukas told him.

“Nag.”

Bastian didn’t know what he meant at first, but he caught on soon enough, catching the 10 engraved onto the back of the watch’s face.

“Ten years, Schweini! Ten years for this shit, but we did it! We did it!”

Lukas knelt on his bed, shaking him by his shoulders, punctuating each jerk with his words.

He wasn’t sure if Lukas realized it, but the number ten meant something else to Bastian, too. It wasn’t just the number of years they’d known each other or been friends. It was Lukas’ jersey number whenever he played for the national team.

Keeping the watch clutched tightly in one hand and ‘Schweini’ in the other, Bastian stood at the edge of the bed and hugged Lukas, thanking him. Lukas laughed in response, patting him on the back.

Pulling away, not wanting to linger too long and make him uncomfortable, Bastian pulled on the watch immediately and put Schweini on the nightstand.

“What do you want to do now?”

“What do you mean?” Bastian felt like he’d already done a hell of a lot in the few minutes since Lukas arrived.

“It’s still your birthday for a few more hours. Don’t you have anything planned?”

Bastian scratched the back of his head, “I celebrated last night.”

“Ah,” Lukas said, nodding his head in understanding. “Then it’s a miracle you’re still standing now.”

“It’s not like that. I didn’t drink… much.”

He was rewarded with a grin. “I’m finally rubbing off on you.”

“Just getting old,” Bastian claim. “I can’t handle hangovers anymore, and there’s no one here to take care of me.”

“No one wanted to carry your drunk ass back?”

“I don’t trust them not to take advantage of me,” he grinned.

Lukas let out a bark of laughter, pulling Schweini—the bunny—into his lap, toying with its soft ears. “We can celebrate here in your room then. I promise I won’t take advantage of you,” he teased.

Bastian wondered what it would take for Lukas to reconsider before showing him where the alcohol was stashed.

He expected Lukas to leave the next day, but he made no mention of it, and Bastian was in no hurry to send his friend off. So, they spent the days after that as they usually did, relaxing, playing games, watching movies, hanging around on the boat and mostly in his room. Like they were an old married couple one might say, but not Bastian. It reminded him that Lukas was still attached and not to him.

The friends Bastian had invited along with him seemed to fade into the background when Lukas was there, and he couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty because _Lukas was there_.

Then, the day came when he was forced to put a stop to their vacation. Training was starting soon, and he couldn’t avoid it anymore. He had already stayed in Ibiza longer than he thought he would thanks to Lukas’ unexpected, but entirely welcome, appearance. He told him that he had to go back when they were watching a movie on his bed.

Lukas caught him off guard again. “Can I come with you?”

“With me?” He asked, like he hadn’t even considered the option. But, that was because he didn’t.

“To Munich,” he answered, as if it were a natural thing for him to do.

He sounded very sure of himself, but Bastian knew something was wrong. In actuality, he felt something was off the first night Lukas arrived, but his selfishness had waylaid his conscience, pushing most thoughts to the side. With that, Bastian made a decision, loathe as he was to do it.

“Why, Poldi?”

Lukas’ ever present smile seemed to dim, and Bastian regretted it immediately but didn’t retract it.

“I want to see the city again. It’s been a while since I visited. Why? You don’t want me to?”

“No,” he said quickly. “And, that’s not what I meant. I wanted to know why you’re with me now. I know it’s not just for me.”

His arm that previously rested comfortably over Bastian’s shoulder dropped to his side, and he replied, “And if it was?”

Bastian had no response for that, but he didn’t have to because Lukas began talking again.

“Moni and I are splitting up.”

Bastian was slackjawed; he was sure of it, but Lukas shrugged.

“We’re going to share custody of Louis. It’ll be okay. So, can I stay with you? It won’t be for long. I have to start training, too.”

“Why?” He found himself asking over and over again.

“I wanted to be with my best friend. Isn’t that reason enough?”

But, it wasn’t enough. Bastian couldn’t let it go now no matter how much he wanted to stay blissfully ignorant; it wasn’t fair to his friend.

He could tell Lukas was getting somewhat irritated that he just wasn’t agreeing to it.

“You can stay for as long as you want, but shouldn’t you try to fix things with Moni?”

“Do you want me to try?”

No, was his instinctive response, but he held his tongue and tried to live up to his role as Lukas’ best friend.

When Bastian didn’t answer, Lukas grabbed Bastian’s hands and tugged him up to face him. They sat up on the bed, silent and staring. In his eyes, there was an intensity and focus that he saw rarely for Lukas outside the football field. It was odd then, that it was being directed at him.

“Schweini, I will go back to her right now if you wanted me to. But _only_ if you tell me I should.”

Again, there was no response from Bastian, who could only stare at Lukas.

Giving up on Bastian, Lukas closed the gap between them, his mouth on Bastian’s, working it slowly.

But, within moments, Lukas’ tongue pressed against Bastian’s mouth, demanding to be let in, and Bastian obeyed without a second thought. There was a sense of underlying urgency beneath his actions that Bastian responded to, meeting that urgency with his own need.

He groaned, tasting Lukas and the strawberries they had for dessert earlier on deck. Bastian slid his tongue along Lukas’, not able to just sit back, focusing on how to prolong the pleasure. His body screamed in protest when Lukas finally broke them apart, pressing his forehead to Bastian’s. He didn’t know how Lukas managed it, but he had found himself under him.

It was when Bastian caught his breath, staring back into Lukas’ eyes that Bastian figured out the meaning behind Lukas’ intense look. Desire, longing, hunger, all wrapped into one _look_. Directed at _him_ , he couldn’t remind himself of that enough.

“Sorry,” he panted, not breaking eye contact or looking particularly apologetic.

“I’m not,” Bastian mumbled, thinking up ways to bring Lukas’ mouth to his again, but with Lukas’ hands on either side of his face, holding their heads together, he couldn’t quite reach. Frustrated, he instead rubbed his cheek against Lukas’ calloused hand, marveling at the warmth and ease at which his actions came to him.

“You’re not mad?”

Bastian looked at him like he was crazy. “Only that this didn’t happen sooner.” Heart on his sleeve, he went for broke, something he didn’t know he had in him when he was twenty and only began to consider at twenty five. At thirty, though, at thirty, he could do it, had to do it. He had to get things straight between them. “Is this why you and Moni—”

He nodded quickly, not even giving Bastian the chance to finish asking, and shot back, “You and Sarah?”

“Couldn’t lie to her anymore.”

“Anymore? How long?”

Fuck, Bastian swore to himself. He didn’t want to scare Lukas off so soon by confessing the extent of his feelings. But, he wasn’t exactly subtle, so maybe Lukas already knew. Still, vaguely, he answered, “It’s different with you… what I feel. Has been for a long time.”

Grinning, Lukas replied, “I thought so, too, mein hase.” He couldn’t resist adding, “When you have time, check the comments on that message I left for you.”

“What message?”

“Your birthday message.”

“Ah, what do they say?” He asked, genuinely curiously.

He chuckled deeply, “Just a lot of people voicing their support.”

“For?”

“Us.”

They grinned at each other. No, they weren’t subtle at all, were they?

“It’s like what happened after that film all over again.”

Speaking of that summer, Bastian had to ask, “Do you remember the bet we made eight years ago?”

It was a longshot, he knew, but he didn’t expect Lukas to return his feelings either. It meant something to him, and he hoped it meant something to Lukas, too. It was a reference point for how far along he and his feelings for Lukas developed.

“We made a lot of bets, Basti, especially that year. Which one?”

He mumbled again, trying to avert his eyes, but it was hard to do when Lukas was still holding on to him. “After our match against Italy. You told me you’d kiss me if we won the World Cup.”

A flicker of realization and clarity surfaced, and Lukas kissed Bastian again.

“It’s okay if you didn’t,” he began. “It’s stupid.”

“I remember,” Lukas said, affection for the man spilling into his voice. He kissed his forehead this time. “I thought you forgot.”

Bastian pushed against Lukas, finally separating from him. Poking at Lukas’ chest, he exclaimed, “Me? I tried kissing you at least three times after we won.”

“What? No, you just puckered your lips. I was waiting for you to move and actually kiss me.”

“I was waiting for you!”

“Then what’s with you pulling back and the finger shaking thing.”

“I didn’t want it to be awkward between us in case you forgot.”

“And kissing me on my cheek later was a good idea?”

“I was aiming for your lips again, asshole.”

“I was taking a picture!”

“You take lots of pictures.”

“Of us,” Lukas corrected. “I take lot of pictures of us. It’s good to take pictures of things you want to remember.”

Flustered, he demanded, “Give me your phone.”

“Why?” He asked, distracted by the sudden change but handing it to him anyway.

Bastian quickly snapped a picture of the both of them in bed.

“There.”

“What was that for?”

“To remember this. The first time we kissed _and_ our first fight. Just don’t post it online.” He put Lukas’ phone off to the side, next to Schweini. “I’m tiring of talking. Ten years, Luki. Ten years I’ve been waiting.”

“Ten…” Lukas repeated, a little overwhelmed at the depth of Bastian’s feelings for him and feeling secure at the same time.

“Probably… Definitely ten,” Bastian said, tugging Lukas’ shirt off him. It was hard when he wasn’t helping.

“What are you doing?”

“Are you drunk enough yet?”

“I don’t drink.”

“Maybe you should start.”

“Why?”

“So I can take advantage of you.”

“Now?” He asked, bewildered.

“I told you. I’m tired of talking. It’s been ten years, Luki.”

He stole a kiss and thought he’d never get tired of kissing Lukas. Distracting him with the kiss, he managed to push Lukas’ arms up and broke them apart to slip the shirt completely off. He briefly took the time to ogle Lukas’ chest and figured that even if he had a lifetime, he couldn’t stare for long enough.

“The next time I win the Cup, you better kiss me in front of the cameras.”

“The next time _we_ win the Cup, I doubt anyone will be surprised. Except maybe Muller. I don’t think he even knows about Sami and Mesut.”

Bastian didn’t respond, preferring instead to continue divesting Lukas of his offending clothes, wanting to see how far Lukas would let him go this time, kissing each inch of skin he revealed.

Lukas let out a throaty groan when Bastian sucked at the flesh near his hip and added, “But you can still kiss me.”

.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: These two are just so amazingly cute, adorable, loveable, dorky, I don’t even know. I squeal every time I see a new post about them and couldn’t help adding to it. Good or bad, knowing stories about them exist makes me happy because that means there are people out there who support them like I do. I don’t know. /fangirl, for real.  
> I created an AO3 account just to post this because I had no idea where else to. This is the first time I’ve felt compelled to write M/M. That’s not to say I haven’t supported/shipped/read M/M, but this is definitely the first time I tried writing it. So, I hope you enjoyed it. 
> 
> Forgot to say, I was happily brought up to date on the highlights on schweinski and used [this post ](http://youllneverwalcologne.tumblr.com/post/90941493844/schweinski-masterpost) as a timeline of sorts. It's really so lovely. Thank you so much for making it. Preach, girl. You keep doin' you. 
> 
> /please drop a comment so i can fangirl about schweinski with you.


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